


Fogged In

by fractalgeometry



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Episode: s0402 Coral Palms Pt. 2, Episode: s04e01 Coral Palms, Episode: s04e03 Coral Palms Pt. 3, Happy Ending, Hugging, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Jake Peralta Needs a Hug, Jake Peralta-centric, Missing Scene, Multi, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22558222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry
Summary: “What’s your favorite food?”“Chocolate protein shakes.”“You’re going to need to be more convincing. This is your life on the line, Larry.”He knows that. He knows that his life - and Holt’s - hinges on their ability to be Larry and Greg. He just hates it.“My favorite food is chocolate protein shakes,” he says with what feels like an incredibly fake smile.~Or: From Jake Peralta to Larry Sherbert and back again: the progression of life in witness protection.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Ray Holt & Jake Peralta
Comments: 18
Kudos: 168





	1. Hope Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I outlined this story at midnight after watching the Coral Palms episodes, and wrote it over the next several days. I really, really love it, and I hope you guys do too.

“What’s your name?”

Jake sighs. “Larry Sherbert.”

“You sure about that?”

 _No._ “Yes.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

Jake winces internally. “...Failure to Launch.”

“This is your favorite movie, Larry! Don’t give me that look!”

Apparently the wince hadn’t been so internal after all. “My favorite movie is Failure to Launch,” he says, trying to look excited about the fact. 

The marshal looks unimpressed, but continues anyway. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Chocolate protein shakes.”

“You’re going to need to be more convincing. This is your life on the line, Larry.”

He knows that. He knows that his life - and Holt’s - hinges on their ability to be Larry and Greg. He just hates it. 

“My favorite food is chocolate protein shakes,” he says with what feels like an incredibly fake smile. 

The marshal seems placated, at least. “Good. You’re ready to head off to your new home. Just remember everything about yourself and you’ll be fine.”

He hates how she says _yourself_. Because she doesn’t mean Jake Peralta. She means Larry Sherbert. She’s trying to make him into Larry, and while he knows it’s for his own good, he wants nothing more than to throw the whole Larry file in the trash and never think about this stupid character again. 

Not character.

Person.

Because he’s Larry Sherbert now.

The marshal leaves the room and Jake bangs his head down on the table and leaves it there for what feels like a very long time.

~

Jake loathes Coral Palms. At first he could convince himself it was like a tropical vacation, what with the palm trees all around and the shorts he was wearing. That lasted all of a week. Now he just loathes the place and everything about it. It’s too hot, too humid, and too sunny, for one thing. The buildings are too short, for another. He’s a New York guy - there are supposed to be skyscrapers all around, hemming him in. What is he supposed to do with so much _sky?_

Holt seems to have adjusted already. They don’t hang out much, trying to keep up the facade of just being neighbors, but the guy really has his life together. He even got a _job,_ for goodness sake. He’s been after Jake to do the same, but Jake is stubbornly refusing. Getting a job feels like admitting defeat. It feels like admitting that he’s going to spend the rest of his life here, in this stupid, too-hot, morally backwards town. 

Jake knows he has to do it. He just can’t.

_Your name is Larry Sherbert. Your favorite movie is Failure to Launch. Your favorite food is chocolate protein shakes._

~

Jake feels like he’s living in a fog. Every time someone calls him Larry — which is rare, since he barely interacts with other human beings these days — the fog gets a little thicker. Sometimes he feels like he’s choking on it, though maybe that’s just the muggy air. Everything feels foreign and awful.

He gets a storage locker and fills it with all the information on Figgis he’d been able to smuggle out, which isn’t much. Whenever he can, he goes and hides there, hoping for a sudden breakthrough that will end with Figgis captured and Jake and Holt back home where they belong. 

He puts a picture of Amy in the locker too. It’s the only way he can see her face, and one of the only things in his life than can pierce the ever-thickening fog. Sometimes, instead of working, he’ll just sit in front of the picture and gaze at her smiling face; his one last, forbidden link to the life he wants to be leading.

The last link except Holt, at least. Or Greg, rather. Calling Holt by a first name, even a fake first name, took some getting used to. Jake purposely messed it up the first few times, to take the edge off the weirdness, but now it’s become a habit. Larry is apparently the kind of guy who can’t learn his neighbor’s simple, one-syllable name. Jake tells himself it’s character development. He’s just exploring who Larry is, to make the whole thing more convincing. He’s being a good witness protectionee. 

_My name is Larry Sherbert. My favorite movie is Failure to Launch. I’m bad at names._

~

Holt invites him over one day. They’ve built up a credible acquaintanceship, so it doesn’t seem too outlandish to go over for a beer and some manly chat, or whatever it is men do when they hang out. Only, it feels weird. Hanging out casually with Holt is awkward enough at home, when there’s the constant knowledge that the man is his boss. Hanging out casually with Holt when they’re both playing the part of other people is actually worse.

Holt practically doesn’t seem to be playing a part, which complicates matters even further and reminds Jake yet again that he needs to stop thinking of it as a part. He _is_ Larry, just like Holt is Greg. He shoves that thought at himself over and over, as they sit and talk about nothing, or stare at whatever is happening on the TV. It’s nice to be in the same space as one of his squad, even if they’re not part of that squad right now. 

Then Jake ends up being annoying, because of course he does, and he can’t seem to turn it off, constantly needling Holt as they put their glasses in the sink and clean up the kitchen, until Holt finally snaps, “Peralta, that’s enough!”

Jake freezes. The ever-thickening fog in his mind blows in circles like a wind has come up, and his brain feels clear for a split second. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed hearing his name until Holt said it, and now he just wants to hear it again and again, even if it’s in annoyance, because heaven help him but it’s been _months_ and _he missed this he missed this he missed-_

“Larry, are you all right? Larry!”

Holt is calling him, and Jake realizes he’s been standing frozen in the kitchen for far too long. The fog crashes back down. The moment is over. It was a slip-up, and he’s back to being Larry again. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.”

He’s not fine, and he’s sure Holt can tell, perceptive as the man is, but he doesn’t argue it. He just walks Jake to the back door, where he can slip over to his own house subtly. 

“Good night, Larry,” he says.

“Night, Greg,” Jake manages, and flees.

He curls up on his sofa, alone in the too-big house, and just shakes for a long time. Finally the tears come and he cries, still alone, still stuck in Florida.

_My name is Larry Sherbert. My favorite food is chocolate protein shakes._

~

Holt finds Jake’s storage locker. Jake supposes he should be glad it’s Holt and not someone else, but right now, staring at the empty room, he can’t bring himself to be glad about anything. After the marshal told them that they’d be in Florida indefinitely, Jake wanted nothing more than to pore over every bit of information he had again, trying to fix this nightmare. He must not have been subtle enough, because Holt found him and now all of his files are gone. So is the picture of Amy. It feels like everything is. 

He slams his way out of the storage facility and climbs on his ATV, jamming the helmet on his head and fastening the too-loose strap he never bothered to tighten. He heads back to his picturesque, suburban house, driving recklessly because really, how else are you supposed to drive one of these things? 

Once he’s inside he goes online and pulls up the application form for the assistant manager position at the Fun Zone. The idea came to him on his drive, and he can’t seem to shake it. He still doesn’t want a job, but he does want his files. He can’t lose his last touch of normalcy, Figgis or no Figgis. Jake can deal with danger. He can’t deal with this foggy, awful feeling of forgetting who he is.

The first field for the application form pops up. _Name:_

_My name is Larry Sherbert. I want a job._

~

Holt is right. Jake is being selfish and endangering them both. So he quits as assistant manager of the Fun Zone. Out in the parking lot he sits on the ATV, feeling the stifling heat of the sun coming from the sky and bouncing off the pavement until it starts to make him a little dizzy. Then he snaps back to his senses - at least far enough to realize he shouldn’t stay in the parking lot - snaps his helmet loosely under his chin, and turns on the engine.

Once he gets back to the house he doesn’t leave again for three days.

He gets another job, this one actually selling ATVs. He hates it, but knows he has to earn money somehow. A small part of him wants to avoid getting Larry into crushing debt. He couldn’t keep Jake out of debt, so maybe he can do better with Larry. 

The rest of him doesn’t care.

He knows he should care about something. He knows he should eat more, and sleep more. He just can’t. Florida has crushed everything he cared about.

Jake Peralta is gone, and Larry Sherbert is by nature a shell of a person, not enough to build a life on.

He’s adrift.

_My name is Larry Sherbert. My favorite movie is Failure to Launch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the sad chapter - it should start getting better in the next one. I’d love to hear your thoughts!


	2. Hope Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Would you like a hug?” Holt asks.
> 
> Jake turns and blinks at him in confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter, so I'm very excited to share it with you all.

Larry Sherbert is not a happy man. He goes to work, comes home, and flops listlessly on whatever piece of furniture is closest. That’s pretty much his entire life. 

_ And it will be forever, _ he thinks. Because Larry knows that Figgis will never be caught, even while Jake holds out some tiny piece of hope that he’s wrong. 

Maybe he can visit New York someday, far in the future, as a tourist. He might accidentally do something embarrassing if he sees a police officer, but it would be worth it to see his home again. On second thought, maybe he could go to Brooklyn and purposely do something illegal in the 99th precinct. Illegal enough that the case gets passed to the detectives. 

It doesn’t feel like as bad an idea as it is. 

He knows that in reality he’ll never get to go on a New York vacation, let alone get enough freedom on one to do illegal things. Larry Sherbert doesn’t go to New York. He’s a Florida man. 

Jake Peralta is a New York guy, but he’s not here anymore. 

_ My name is Larry Sherbert. My favorite trees are palm trees. _

~

He hasn’t interacted with Holt in weeks when the man himself comes into Dan’s World of ATVs and interrupts Jake while he’s working with a customer. He tries to professionally ask Holt to wait, but eventually the desire to talk to his captain wins out. 

He barely hears Holt’s exact words, but the message gets through just the same. Holt hates Florida. He misses home. 

“That day that we spent acting like cops,” Holt is saying, “was the only time I’ve felt alive since we’ve been here.”

Jake almost wants to cry at hearing it put into words. The fog swirls and puffs around in his head, and he feels understood for the first time in months. 

Left standing in the store after Holt leaves, he feels something stir in his chest, and before he knows it he’s skipping out on work for the rest of the day and making a beeline for the empty storage locker.

Holt has brought back the box of Figgis files. Jake’s heart stumbles with an unfamiliar feeling.  _ Hope, _ he thinks. _ It’s hope. _

When he calls his companion Greg, he finds himself on the business end of a very familiar and long-lost stony glare. 

“It’s Holt,” he hears. “Captain Raymond Holt.”

And the fog in Jake’s head lightens. 

~

They post the embarrassing, incriminating video of their go-kart mishap on the Internet for all to see, and pray to the god they don’t believe in that the marshals don’t find it. After that there isn’t much more they can do on the case. They’ve both pored over their limited information and privately admitted that any leads they might get from it are dead. 

They somehow keep ending up at the storage locker together anyway. They usually work in silence, with the door pulled down and the world shut out, and for a little while Jake can feel almost safe. Holt calls him Peralta and Jake calls Holt Captain, or sir, or occasionally, when he’s feeling playful, Raymond. Holt isn’t technically his boss right now, after all, though that thought quickly leads to the fact that he’s not technically Jake right now, and Holt isn’t Holt, and okay, it’s time to stop thinking about this. 

When he calls Holt Raymond the captain always says “Jacob,” in a chastising tone punctuated with a quelling look, but that’s all. Jake is pretty sure that Holt likes hearing his real first name — and goodness knows Jake loves hearing his own — so he drops “Raymond” into conversation a little more often. Not often enough to actually be annoying or insubordinate, of course, but often enough to soothe a little of the identity disconnect that still plagues him more of the time than not.

Pretending to read a file for the eighth time, feeling Holt’s determined, familiar presence nearby, Jake starts to feel alive again.

~~_ My name is Jake Peralta _ ~~ _ My name is Larry Sherbert. My favorite movie is Failure to Launch. _

~

They spend time together outside of the storage facility too. Usually it’s Jake going over to Holt’s house, where they sit and blankly watch TV or read. Well, Holt reads. Jake plays on his phone. They’re not hanging out to do activities. They’ve just decided, by unspoken agreement, that they feel better when they’re in the same place. It’s scary, baiting their enemies into finding them. Every night Jake half-expects to wake up and see Figgis standing over him, having somehow snuck into Coral Palms without them knowing. 

It’s still better than the crushing hopelessness from before they made their move. Jake’s only regret about their plan is how furious Amy will be that he put himself in danger like this, though he thinks he can redeem himself by, y’know, coming home to her. Probably.

They’re watching TV one night, each on his own end of the sofa, though Jake is sprawled halfway across the piece of furniture, hands twisted in his lap like they always seem to be these days while Holt is sitting neatly at his end, looking as unperturbed as always. 

Partway through the episode, Holt’s hand lands on Jake’s ankle, and Jake jumps a mile. Holt doesn’t move his hand, but he does glance at Jake like he’s gauging his reaction. Jake hesitates briefly, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning back to the TV and pretending to pay attention to that instead of the warm, grounding hand on his leg. 

A few nights later they’re watching TV again when Holt, out of the blue, says, “Would you like a hug?”

Jake turns and blinks at him in confusion. 

Holt, clearly deciding that more explanation is required (it is), turns down the TV a few notches and continues. “It has been a very long time since I was able to hug someone who I trust. I suspect that the same is true for you. I thought it may be good for us to remedy that.”

“Are you  _ propositioning _ me?” Jake demands incredulously.

“No,” Holt says decisively. “Yes. Not in the way you make it sound.”

“What about Kevin?”

“What about Kevin?” Holt counters. “I have it on good authority that friends can hug each other without it getting in the way of any separate romantic relationships. If Amy would dislike it, or you, of course…”

“Amy won’t care,” Jake says faintly. 

“And you?”

Jake shakes his head, then realizes that could be interpreted multiple ways. “Yes. Hug me. Please?”

Holt opens his arms, and Jake slides across the sofa until they’re right next to each other. Then Holt folds his arms around Jake, and...it’s terribly awkward. Jake’s arms are pinned to his sides and his legs are twisted under him. He squirms and Holt lets go immediately. Jake starts to flee back to his side of the sofa, or maybe even his own house, but Holt catches his shoulder. 

“I would like to try again, if you are willing,” he says.

Jake stays where he is for a second, poised to run, every muscle tense. Then he unfolds his legs from under him and scoots back over. Holt puts his close arm across Jake’s shoulders and it feels awkward again, until Holt tugs gently and Jake leans into him. Holt’s second arm comes up and wraps around Jake’s torso, pulling him a little closer. Jake stiffens minutely, worrying about boundaries and overstepping them, but then he feels Holt sigh a little, like a tiny bit of tension is leaving him, and Jake remembers that Holt was the one to suggest this in the first place. 

So Jake lets himself relax a bit more, and feels Holt’s arms holding him securely in place, and realizes that this is  _ good _ . He shifts to pull his legs back up onto the sofa — more comfortable that way — and Holt’s arms instantly loosen, like he’s making sure Jake can leave if he wants. The thing is, Jake  _ doesn’t _ want, so he leans back into Holt, and the arms come back, so Jake knows Holt is okay with staying like this too. He curls a little closer, and after a minute rests his head on the arm closest to him.

The TV is still going, but they never turned it back up, so it’s just background noise at this point. Jake likes it. It fits well with the quiet mood he’s falling into. He feels like he should feel weird about this whole thing, but it’s late and the room is quiet and he can’t be aware of much more than the gentle movement of Holt breathing at his back and the calm, pleasantly fuzzy feeling of being safe and protected and held.

After a few minutes, Jake falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it would start getting better. :) Comments make my day, so let me know what you think!


	3. Hope Fulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They walk out with a literal bucket of bullets and more guns than they can possibly use with two people, but Jake is just happy to have made it out without the cops getting called. Everything is going great.
> 
> Until they run a stop sign.
> 
> And a cop car sees them do it.
> 
> And really, Jake can’t be anything but relieved that the officer’s reaction to seeing two guys with a backseat full of firearms is to drag them into the station to find out why.

Jake is nervous walking into the gun store. The bribe money weighs heavy in his pocket, and he wishes he weren’t planning on breaking the law right about now. Still, they need weapons if they’re going to survive the whole lure-Figgis-into-attacking-us thing, and there’s no way they can get them legally without blowing the whole plan and getting sent off to witness protection somewhere else with no hope of getting themselves out. So bribing the gun store owner it is.

“Got something in mind?” The proprietor asks.

“Uh, yeah! Maybe a couple of those handguns?” Jake asks.

“Can I see some ID?”

Jake makes a show of patting his many cargo pockets before turning with a wry smile. “I must have left it at home. But I do have this big ol’ wad of-“

He doesn’t get to finish. “No problem!” the other man says. “I don’t need your ID. Federal database is down anyway.” He punctuates the obvious lie with an exaggerated wink.

Jake is floored. He stares at the man for a few seconds, then mumbles, “Cool. Cool cool cool cool our country is broken.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing! Nothing. Yeah, can I have some of those?”

They walk out with a literal bucket of bullets and more guns than they can possibly use with two people, but Jake is just happy to have made it out without the cops getting called. Everything is going great.

Until they run a stop sign.

And a cop car sees them do it.

And really, Jake can’t be anything but relieved that the officer’s reaction to seeing two guys with a backseat full of firearms is to drag them into the station to find out why. Sure, he wishes they could just have slipped past notice, done their thing, and gone home, but there’s something vaguely encouraging about knowing that there’s _something_ that will make the local police bat an eyelash. If the officer had let them go, Jake would have been much, much more worried.

He starts to re-evaluate that statement once their (admittedly false) story is disbelieved and they get tossed in the holding cell at the Coral Palms police station. Turns out the problem of not having weapons when Figgis gets to Coral Palms pales when put next to the possibility of being both weaponless and _literally caged_. Briefly, Jake wonders if it would have been a better idea to just lie low and keep waiting for the FBI to catch the guy. He spends a little longer on the thought that if he survives Figgis, Amy will probably kill him for pulling such a damn fool stunt as this.

At least that one is a metaphorical death, and Jake likes it a lot more.

Holt still refuses to call the Nine-Nine. His most recent idea is to tell the sheriff “the truth”, and before Jake can argue, he’s calling the sheriff over and explaining that he’s not Greg, and Jake isn’t Larry. Jake spares a thought for how well and truly screwed they are if they _don’t_ stop Figgis at this point, and then he’s distracted by Holt saying, “We are Captain Raymond Holt and Detective Jake Peralta of the NYPD.”

And _damn_ , that feels good to hear. _Detective Jake Peralta._ Now there’s a cool guy.

The sheriff doesn’t believe them. Of course he doesn’t; their story sounds completely made-up. Then he calls their marshal and gets Figgis on the line instead, which both solidifies his disbelief and kicks Jake’s nerves into overdrive because _oh god Figgis definitely knows where they are_. And now they’re back in the holding cell. Very stuck. Very in trouble.

Jake swallows the fear that’s slowly creeping into his throat at how bad their situation is right now and tries to think of some way to fix it.

_My name is Jake Peralta. I’m in witness protection under the name Larry Sherbert._

~

They escape from jail and it’s _awesome._ They finally call the Nine-Nine - now that they have both a major mob boss _and_ the entire Coral Palms police department out to get them it seems like a good idea - and boy does the squad sound happy to hear from them.

With backup on its way, they decide to buy some food and lie low for a while. Then Holt impales his leg on a piece of rebar and even lying low gets complicated. Still, they make it back to the storage locker somehow, and Holt patches up his wounded leg alone after Jake finds he can’t bring himself to look at it long enough to help.

Then they wait. Wait to see whether the Nine-Nine will get there first...or Figgis. They have no weapons and Holt can’t even walk, but Jake can tell they’re both feeling a kind of giddy excitement. Mixed with fear, of course, they’re not robots. Jake isn’t sure when he’s been this terrified before, actually. He’s in danger on some level most days in his line of work, but he’s never had anyone who specifically wanted to kill _him_. And now, with the flimsy defense of living life as Larry Sherbert gone, he’s vulnerable to that attack.

But the excitement can’t be smothered. Assuming he avoids that imminent death, he’s going to see the squad. He’s going to see _Amy_. And they will damn well catch Figgis, because Jake is never going into witness protection again. The last six months have been hell on so many levels, and he refuses to do anything of the sort again. Ever.

_My name is Jake Peralta. I’m allergic to bees._

~

The Nine-Nine gets there first. Jake knew they would, but the feeling of relief when he opens the door and sees them around it still almost knocks him over. They crowd into the locker and discuss ideas, make plans, decide who’s going to the Fun Zone. Holt obviously has to stay behind, a fact that he accepts with grace, but Jake has gotten to know him well enough to see that it’s hurting him terribly to not be leading them into the fray himself.

They go to the Fun Zone and lay the trap. Jake almost says something profound and heartfelt before they split up to their positions, but holds back, almost as though leaving things to be said later will guarantee that they all get through this.

If it does, he won’t argue. He’ll take all the help he can get.

_My name is Jake Peralta. I’m a detective._

~

Sitting in the back of the ambulance when it’s all over, a little dizzy from the adrenaline and the gunshot wound in his leg, he finds himself consciously appreciating his team in a way he doesn’t usually. Obviously he loves them and appreciates them all the time, but the adventure of the day and seeing them for the first time in months has made him notice it more.

And then he forgets about all that, because it hits him that they won. Figgis is in custody, and Jake’s long, awful, lonely time in Florida is at an end.

_My name is Jake Peralta. I’m going home._

~

Being in New York again is like jumping into a freezing lake. It’s sensory overload, but in such a good way. Jake finds himself staring up at the skyscrapers for far longer than a New Yorker normally would, just appreciating the feeling of being dwarfed by the architecture again. The city is loud, and smelly, and blessedly cool, at least in comparison to Coral Palms. Jake loves it.

Being back at work takes some adjustment, especially with the whole night shift thing. Also the fact that he can’t walk without a cane yet, and limps pretty badly even with it. Still, just getting to sit at his desk and see his coworkers sitting at theirs is familiar in an almost overwhelming way. He tries to be good and not push his physical limits too far yet, but sometimes when he’s out on a case he forgets and tries to run. Which never ends well. He’ll get there, though.

He and Amy spend time together, and at first it also takes some getting used to. They hadn’t been together that long when he went away, and the six months was pretty endless. They get their rhythm back, though, and sometimes Jake feels like he can’t get enough of her presence to make up for what he missed.

He tells her about hugging on the sofa with Holt, far away in Florida, and she pulls him closer and says that she’s glad he got that comfort. She means it, too. Jake can tell. He knew that she wouldn’t mind, but it’s still so good to hear her say so.

She squeezes him a little, then loosens her arms to pick up her book. Jake squirms until he’s halfway in her lap, leaning against her chest, and one of her arms automatically catches him to keep him from sliding. He slides a little anyway, because he doesn’t really care whether he stays sitting up right now, and she starts running her hand through his hair, slowly, absently. He melts a little under the touch, muscles loosening until the only things holding him up are Amy and the sofa.

After a few minutes his eyes close.

_My name is Jake Peralta. My favorite movie is Die Hard. My favorite food is pizza._

_I am a detective for the NYPD._

_I am alive. I am safe. I am home._

_My name is Jake Peralta._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! I hope you enjoyed this fic. I’d love to hear (see?) any comments you have. :)


End file.
